Dark Guardian
by wouldbewriter23
Summary: Based off the lives of immortals by Meercatwhisperer. Every child desereves a protector. When not even the Guardians of Childhood will protect him, who does Jack have?
1. Chapter 1

**This is a spin-off of Meercatwhisperer112's story 'The lives of immortals'. I would highly suggest reading chapters 10, 11, and 13-15. Otherwise this isn't going to make much sense. Also I recommend reading Meercatwhisperer112 in general, because their stuff is amazing.**

**I do not own the movie or Lives of immortals. Enjoy and drop me a review.**

He'd been over half a world away when Jack was discovered. The utter terror that screamed from the boy's mind all but knocked him off his feet. The fear was everything he'd imagined it would be; sweet and cold, heady enough to make his head spin. It also sent the Boogeyman flying toward the source in a state of fear and concern that he didn't fully understand. Pitch stood in the shadows, watching in conflicted pity as the spirit of Karma loomed over the trembling frost child, unwilling to step forward to help and unable to leave and forget the boy. He finally turned to leave when Karma's first blow to Jack's face knocked the child to his knees. He would inform the demented spirits involved in the game of Jack's location, and let them clean up the consequences of their 'fun'.

-Line Break – Line Break – Line Break-

The nagging feel of concern and pity that drew Pitch to Jack's terror had him following the gaggle of spirits who made their way to the boy's hiding cave. Lily's shriek had him charging into the shadows inside the cave. He suddenly felt quite sick. The child lay in a heap of mangled limbs, a growing pool of blood circling his body. Karma stood over him, bloodied knife in hand and a sick grin spreading over her face as she declared herself the winner. Lily Breeze dismissed the other spirits as she made her way over to Jack's shaking form.

"I'm so sorry, this…..wasn't supposed to happen," the delicate looking girl whispered, looking very close to tears as she pushed Jack's staff into his hand. As she stood to leave, Jack bloodied hand clamped over her wrist.

"Lily," he started, cut off by a horse cough, his voice raw from screaming, "please….I need help." The child's voice trembled from sobs barely contained. "I need help, please."

The spring spirit stared down at him for a moment before pulling her arm free. "Feel better," she muttered in a pathetic apology before leaving the broken boy sobbing on the floor. Pitch watched her fly away in utter disgust; the little harpy was the entire reason the child was in the condition, and she didn't have the decency to help him?! She even had the audacity to cry over him before leaving her fellow seasonal bleeding and begging on the floor.

Pitch turned his golden gaze to the weeping winter spirit. Jack lay curled in as tight of a ball as his broken limbs would allow, the worst of his wound frosting over to staunch the bleeding. He whimpered and sobbed, looking small and vulnerable and so very young. The shadowed spirit lingered in the in the dark, thinking hard on a course of action; Jack was hurt badly and needed medical attention. He could go to one of the moron Guardians. Jack was a child; they wouldn't ignore him in this condition. All he had to do was create some form of threatening display and get them to chase him back to the boy. Better yet he could remove anything on their part and drop the boy on one of their doorsteps. The rabbit or the bandit would be fully capable of providing the care Jack needed… why did he _care_?!

Why did he care if the child spirit bled to death, if his arms and legs were destroyed? Why did he care what happened to him? Was the boy a pitiful sight? Yes, the pity he felt toward the child wasn't overly surprising. But the rage, the need to do something to _help _the boy, that he couldn't understand. It wasn't his problem; if no one else cared about the boy, then why should he?

"Daddy." The whispered sob drew him out of his musings and back to the winter boy. His eyes were clouded over in shock and the beginnings of a fever. Jack didn't seem to realize where he was or what he was saying. "Daddy," he sobbed again, sending a jolt through Pitch's body. The need to help – hold, _comfort_ – rose from the deepest parts of his mind. "It hurts, daddy help me. It hurts, daddy."

Pitch rushed from the shadows to the boy's side. Jack was too far gone to register his presence as the Boogeyman lifted the boy into his arms. He curled into his Pitch's arms, sobbing for a parent long dead. Relying on the Guardians to help was out of the question; Jack needed help now and those buffoons had proven themselves useless in protecting the boy. He would laugh at the irony later. Right now he needed to get Jack back to his lair to treat the child's fever.

He hefted Jack higher into his arms and slipped back into the shadows. Jack's cries filled the lair, the calls for his father bouncing off the walls in an eerie way. The made the older spirit's chest ache and he tried to soothe the boy placed him on the bed.

'What am I doing?' He wondered as he ran his long fingers through silky hair, offering comfort while he felt the child's temperature. It was still cold to the touch but considerably warmer than a winter spirit's ideal temperature. He went to gather the appropriate medical supplies while sending his newly experimented Nightmares to gather snow. What was he doing? Whimpering brought him back over to the bed in a heartbeat, offering hushed words of comfort and soothing contact. Instincts he thought long dead controlled his every action and thought.

He had no idea why he was helping the child. Logically, it wasn't his problem. But no one else was going to help the child, and leaving him bleeding on the floor of the cave was not an option. So the responsibility of taking care of Jack Frost fell on Pitch Black.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack was incoherent with his high fever for his entire stay in the lair. Pitch took it as a blessing that no one would ever know he played nurse made to Jack Frost, even Jack himself. When he thought about it, the lengths he went through for the child were more than humiliating. He hugged and rocked the boy after setting – and often re-breaking – his bones, sat by the boy and stroked his hair through fever-induced nightmares the Boogeyman had no control over, cleaned his wound, washed his soiled clothing. He would deny to the ends of the earth that he babied the child and practically had a heart attack at any lapse in the boy's labored breathing.

But, he could lie to himself: a small part of him enjoyed taking care of the frost boy. For once he was a source of comfort rather than fear, a foreign but not entirely unpleasant feeling. He was unsure what triggered such a parental response to the boy, but the truth was, he loved having the boy around. Loved the way Jack would cuddle into him in his sleep, seeming perfectly content in Pitch's arms. He enjoyed running his fingers through baby soft white hair while he wipe sweat from the boy's brow, and simply talking to Jack, even if he was incapable of talking back, and more than likely couldn't hear him. But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.

It took three weeks before Jack's fever finally broke. For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed his mind to let Jack stay; to let him know that Pitch had cared for him over the weeks. That he wasn't utterly alone in the world. He pushed the idea almost as quickly as he thought of it. His reputation couldn't handle the blow of _him_ actually caring for a child. Besides, Jack would never stay.

With the decision made, he held Jack in his arms through the night, making sure the fever was truly broken and keeping the Nightmares away. As dawn broke, he realized that he would miss the feel of Jack in his arms, and the way the boy curled into him in his sleep. He shook the feeling away and lifted Jack into his arms as he moved them through the shadows, headed for the Artic. Pitch set the boy gently on the ice, brushing a blanket of snow over his form after making sure there were no bandages or any other sign that another person had been there throughout his recovery. He brushed the boy's bangs out of his sleeping face, and resisted the urge to place a kiss on his brow. Shaking his head at his own foolish actions, Pitch sank through the shadows back to his lonely lair.

-Line Break – Line Break – Line Break-

Jack was groggy when he awoke, staring at the snowy Artic landscape in confusion. How's he gotten there? Last he remembered he was…...

It all came rushing back. Hiding from the other spirits and their twisted game, taking refuge in the caves of New Zealand. So scared; why were they doing this, _why did they hate him, what had he done_? Being found: Karma. Oh god, pain, so much pain, _why why why, help, please!_ Lily; being left broken and bleeding in the cave, begging, help help please. And after that….nothing. He must have dragged himself to Antarctica, even in his ruined physical and mental condition. Jack slowly sat up, bringing his knees to his chest in distress. No one, no one had helped him. They'd seen him, seen what their game led to, he'd _begged_ Lily for help, and still they'd left him. He swallowed down despair and checked himself over. Everything seemed to be in the right order; his bones were all straight, his wounds were closed – scarred over, but closed – he was whole.

He stared down at his hands as he ran them over his staff. He could have sworn he remembered a voice. A smooth voice soothing him, comforting hands running through his hair, seeing a face in the dark, and feeling safe even if he didn't recognize who it was…. must have been dreaming. Yeah, he didn't want to be abandoned and forced to take care of himself, so he made up someone to take care of him. Jeez, talk about pathetic.

Jack shook his head, dislodging the snow from his hair, and climbed shakily to his feet. His legs were practically jelly after so long lying down, but they managed to hold him. He sighed, longing for the imagined arms to hold him and comfort him and took to the sky. He still had a job to do; it was not the time for self- pity and dreams. He gave another sigh and followed the pull of Winter to the south.

One thing for sure, he wasn't going to just take the beating any more. It wasn't worth it. The next time those spirits came anywhere near him, he would show them just how great it felt to be beaten to a bloody pulp. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

-Line Break – Line Break—Line Break-

Pitch watched the boy fly off, unable to just leave the boy in the frozen wasteland. Even if Jack wasn't aware of him, it made the shadow spirit feel better knowing he hadn't fully abandoned the boy. Just a little. He'd felt an ache in his arms when Jack had come to his senses, remembering everything that had been done to him and left to think he'd been left alone to suffer. He'd wanted to rush forward and scoop the boy up, take him back home and protect him from the world. What. Was. _Wrong_. With. Him?!

The best thing to be done was to head back to the lair and forget everything. Forget about Jack, and the strange feeling the boy had stirred within him. Something he already had a feeling was going to be next to impossible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, this picks up after the movie. Enjoy and review**

To say that Pitch was enraged after the battle was the understatement to end all understatements. The man in the moon couldn't even allow him one small thing, one small ounce of happiness. In the fifty-four years since he'd nursed Jack Frost back to health, he'd hardly been able to leave the boy alone. While Jack was never aware of it, Pitch was always watching over him. Any attacks against the boy – which had become considerably rarer after what had become known as culmination – were met with immediate and brutal retribution. Soon even the hard headed summer spirits got the idea to stay away from the boy. Still Pitch stayed close to the boy, bringing him food, clothes and the occasional toy; in all that time he never revealed himself to the winter child, even when Jack tried searching out the mysterious source of the gifts. On rare nights, Pitch would even gather the gangly child into his arms like he used to and just lay there listening to Jack breath.

And of course, the moon couldn't even allow him that.

Decades of planning, experimenting with Sanderson's stolen sand, gaining strength and he was finally ready. Ready to put those pathetic Guardians in their place. Unfortunately, Pitch's plans only called for _four_ adversaries. Seeing Jack at the Tooth Palace had thrown him off and hurt him much more than he thought possible. He'd hidden it well – burring his emotions was what he was best at – and tried to chase the boy out of the fight. He'd played on the winter child's fears, given him ample time to leave a fight that had nothing to with him, even offered Jack his memories, but the stubborn boy refused. So, he had the dimwits chase the boy out for him. And then it occurred to him. Maybe, maybe this was a chance to convince the child spirit to stay with him. To see that Pitch was the only one who truly cared and understood him.

Jack turning him down was the most unpleasant shock he'd ever experienced. It was his own fault, he supposed. He'd let his excitement about his assured victory get ahead of him. And of course, Jack wanted nothing to do with such things, and promptly forgot everything else Pitch had said before. Pitch would admit he didn't take the rejection as well as he could have, but being rebuffed by the boy he'd protected for half a century…hurt.

Then the ignorant child had rubbed salt in the wound by aiding in his defeat. And then, to top it all off, by standing by as he was dragged away by his own creations. No. Enraged was not even close to describing how he felt.

Why he went back to watching over the boy who'd been key in his defeat, Pitch had no idea. He chalked it up the need for routine after having his world torn apart. He all but stalked the frost spirit, watching him play with his believers, stumble about being a Guardian, get acquainted with his….._family_. He supposed that was what had infuriated him the most. That even after everything he'd done, after all the protection he'd given the boy, Jack choose the spirits that ignored him for three centuries, over Pitch. It was a blow to the heart that never lessened.

-Line Break – Line Break – Line Break-

Jack's status as a Guardian had brought back all the negative attention of his fellow spirits that had been beaten down over the years. And with his guardian angel – whom many had deduced to be Pitch Black – down for the count, there was nothing to stop them from going after the child. Jack put up the best fight he could, but there was only so much one small spirit could do alone against a group of over twenty older spirits. Pitch stood by in the shadows, drawn to Jack's fears as he'd been fifty years before. He watched as the group ripped Jack's staff out of his hands and forced him to the ground, angered at the injuries the young spirit had managed to inflict. The punched and kicked him as he yelled and cried, trying unsuccessfully to fight them off.

He stood by as they beat him, trying to convince himself he didn't care. That the boy didn't deserve his protection anymore. And by the time they'd beaten Jack into unconsciousness, he knew he there was no convincing himself. He leaped forward, kicking the fire sprite pounding on Jack's face away and sending his few loyal Nightmares out on the rest. He stood over Jack's prone form, scythe in hand, looking much more powerful and threatening than he felt. It did the trick. The other spirits backed off, weary of such a violent attack from someone they thought was too weak to fight. Before this, Pitch had never made such a public appearance in protecting Jack, always hiding in the shadows. That alone was enough to frighten them off.

With the threat gone, Pitch moved over to Jack's unmoving body. He was out cold, a broken nose and probably some fractured ribs from the looks of things. Pitch could just leave him there, or drop him off at the Pole; leaving him with the Guardians was a valid option now. But…

He knelt down and pulled the bloodied boy into his arms, vowing to hunt down each of those spirits and making sure they suffered twice as much – _ten times_ as much – as he began to rock the child. This is the way things were meant to be, he thought as he closed his eyes in contentment. Jack safe and in his arms. He looked down at Jack's sleeping face, innocent and peaceful despite the bruises. No, no he would take him home, fix him up, and then return Jack to his precious friends. He'd rather take over Jack's protection himself – he hardly trusted his Guardians to do an adequate job – but Jack had already proven he wanted nothing to do with him.

No, he'd take care of Jack like he always had. It was time to accept it. He was Jack unwanted, violent, dark guardian angel.


End file.
